Fifty Shades Of Destiel
by NurseLintu
Summary: Okay, so I'm reading the books, and I love Destiel... I think the title says it all. It is Dean/Cas but because I've classed it at Supernatural/Fifty Shades I can only choose one character
1. Ill Brothers Suck

_**I couldn't resist... Heh I'm reading the 50 Shades trilogy... I shan't share my opinion, so as to avoid trouble! =D Just thought I'd rip it off and turn it in to Destiel =D Bit of fun... Hope you enjoy ^-^**_

"You're going to be late," My room mate, and younger brother, Sam, barks at me from his bed. He looks like hammered crap, eyes circled with red, his nose swollen and sore.

"I'll make it, don't you worry." Somehow, he has managed to talk me in to going to interview this pompous dickbag, some Castiel Novak, I don't know who he is. A CEO of Novak Enterprises or something. All I know is that he has a hand in the uni I attend here in Kansas, and he has more money than you can shake a stick at, or whatever. He's probably an arrogant prick, so the thought of dragging myself out of bed on a Saturday morning, with a beautiful hangover, to go and ask this self important gripe a pile of questions I really couldn't care less about, fills me with anything other than glee and happiness. Sammy is darn lucky I love him. This project is apparently worth a quarter of his final grade, so I can't even tell him to stuff it.

"You can't go dressed like _that._" Sam bitches at me as I reach out for my trusty leather coat.

"Why not?" I look down at my AC/DC top and rather tattered jeans. Holes in the knees, faded up and down the length of them. I look back up at my brother and huff loudly at him. We come to an agreement; I end up wearing a simple black button down shirt and my _best_ jeans. They're still black, tidy, if not just a little _too_ tight for my liking. I feel like I'm going on a date with a hot chick, not going to ask some rich business man a pile of questions about... Goodness only knows what Sam wants to know. I'll find out when I get there I guess. I will get my revenge on him. He wasn't impressed with my whole _Nair in the shampoo _trick I pulled once upon a time. I smirk.

"What are you planning?"

"Nothing, man," I strike a ridiculous pose and give Sam my biggest cheesy grin. "Looking hot, huh, Sammy?"

Sam rolls his eyes at me and flaps his tissue at me. He sneezes in to the tissue and makes a growling noise in his throat. I'm sure I'm not that melodramatic when I get the flu. Heh, man flu. I now understand what women whittle on about when they're moaning about their blokes putting it on when they're ill. It's Lawrence, in the middle of June, how can he have a cold anyway? Probably got it from that little skank, Ruby. She's probably given him syphilis or something. As his older brother, I judge the girls Sammy brings home, and that Ruby girls just rubs me up the wrong way. Sure she has lips for a blow job – and I have to fight to banish the mental image that threatens to surface from that thought – but her clothes are always too small, and too tight and too slutty. I don't like her. I want Jess back. I still don't know why Sammy finished with her. I sigh. It will be my mission to get Sammy back on the right track. Starting with this favor right now, and I shall use it to blackmail him. Genius.

"Maybe he has a hot assistant?"

Sam sneezes again. "Whatever, Dean. You're a man whore."

I feign shock, opening my mouth and placing my hand on my chest. "I'm hurt."

"I'll see you later." Effectively, he has finished this conversation. So I flip him off as I scurry out of our room.

It's a long drive, and I am _definitely_ going to charge Sammy for the gas I use getting there and back. I love him, but I think I may love my Baby more. Baby is a '67 Chevy Impala; who can blame me for loving her? I'm not even sure about leaving her parked in this lot. I hope there is security. Someone approaches my car and raps on the window and, fighting the urge to shout at him for being so rough, I wind the window down and smile.

"What is your business here?"

I offer him my hand. "Dean Winchester. I'm standing in for Sam Winchester; he had an appointment with Mr. Novak today. 2 pm."

The man pulls a notepad out from his breast pocket and flicks through it before turning back to me and giving me a stiff nod. He indicates a parking spot. "I shall escort you upstairs,"

Excellent. I try to force my smile to stay. I think I hate rich people. "Great, thanks." I park my Baby and make sure she's securely locked, pretending not to notice the man watching my every move. He looks down his nose at me when I approach him. "Is there security in this lot?" He just nods once. Another forced smile and he stalks off towards an elevator on the back wall of the lot, and he presses the call button. It isn't long before the car arrives, but man it feels like forever standing in there with him. It is a horrible, awkward silence, and I suddenly wish I had worn my fancy suit that I save for interviews and meals out with Mom and Dad. I can't help noticing how the man keeps glaring at my jeans. Perhaps he's jealous of how fine my ass looks in them. Now I have to bite the inside of my lip to stop the laugh. When the car finally comes to a stop on floor twenty two, according to the highlighted button and the small digital screen above the doors, it opens to reveal an enormous clinical white lobby. I follow the grouchy man to a large pair of white double doors.

"Just a moment, please." He veers off to a smaller door to our right that I hadn't really noticed before, and closes the door behind him. He emerges maybe two minutes later and, avoiding eye contact at all costs, he grunts, "He's ready for you." He knocks loudly on the door, then opens it when a 'Come in' is shouted from the other side of the door. I peek in at the presumed assistant; she is no older than about 24, with sleek blond hair and blue eyes. I wouldn't hesitate in saying she's a hottie, and I'm pretty sure she flushes bright red when I raise a hand to wave at her and unleash my most dazzling smile on her. I probably embarrass myself then by tripping over thin air and stumbling in to Mr. Novak's office, but I quickly regain my composure and grasp on to the back of one of the two chairs across the desk from who I presume must be Mr. Novak himself. He is standing, seemingly frozen, probably in well disguised hysteria at my rather inelegant entrance. He offers his hand to me, and I take it, finally looking him in the eye. And Holy fuckary what incredible eyes they are. I literally don't think I have ever seen such an intense cerulean blue. His skin is smooth and pale, in fiery contrast with his raven hair. I think I envy his hair; he looks like he's just rolled out of bed, or crept out of the janitor's closet at school, hot girl in tow, but hell it looks good. If I swung that way, I would say he's hot. Kind of looks like an Angel... God knows why that comes to mind. I grin stupidly s I realize he is waiting for me to tell him my name. I must swallow before I speak, or I shall either drool, or choke. Neither would put across a great impression. I swallow. "Dean Winchester. Standing in for Sam Winchester. He has an appointment to interview you, but he's got the flu."

Novak nods. "Castiel Novak, pleased to meet you. I'm sorry your brother is unwell."

I shrug. "Man flu," I resist the urge to wink at him, and pull my hand away, hoping not to offend him, but we've been holding hands for longer than I feel comfortable with. I hoist my jeans up before I sit, and I could swear I see Castiel's eyes follow the movement before he sits and slides his chair closer to the desk so he can rest his elbows on it.

"How can I help you?"

I have a moment of panic where I think I've left the questions behind, but my brain kicks in and reminds me I've stuffed them in my back pocket. I fetch the paper out and point to a Biro I see just within my reach on Castiel's desk. "May I?"

"Of course," He encourages, and pushes the pen towards me. His fingers brush against my own and I shudder involuntarily.

"Thanks." I scan through the questions quickly and swallow again. Great time to get cotton mouth. "Uh..." Start from number one I suppose. "You're CEO of this company, yes?"

Castiel nods, and bunches his hands together. He rests his chin on his hands, but his eyes don't leave mine.

I plow ahead asking the list of questions Sammy has scrawled on the piece of paper, and I scribble down notes, because I know I will forget half of it.

"Are you romantically involved?" I ask it, but I feel my cheeks heating up at the out-of-place question, and I wonder if maybe Sam has a random man crush on this guy. Not that I would blame him, but that thought it banished before it can fully come to fruition. I am definitely not gay, but I am open minded enough to know when a bloke is good looking. That's all I mean.

Castiel leans forward, closer to me, and he holds my gaze steadily, a cheeky smile quirking the corners of his lips upwards. "Are you?"

I blink, scribble out the question, put down a mental note that I am going to _kill_ Sam when I get home, ill or not, and laugh. "My brother is just screwing around, sorry." I clear my throat and continue with the questions.

Castiel seems passionate about his work, and his answers leave me reeling. As far as I can tell, he just wants to help. He mentions his previous business associate, Crowley McLeod, and I can tell by the way he sneers his name that whatever went down between them has left a bitter taste in Castiel's pretty mouth. Wow. I'm staring at his mouth as he talks. I look back in to his eyes and smile, nodding to show that I am listening and appreciating.

"I am particularly interested in trying to help those communities less fortunate than our own. I want to support families and help to keep them strong and together, even in difficult times." And I notice a distant look in his eyes as he speaks; his eyes seem to fix on an invisible spot on his desk, and the creases around them smooth out. The slight smile he spoke through before has disappeared completely. He has me transfixed. Intrigued even. I find myself wanting to pry, wanting to know more about this man.

"Are you from a wealthy background?" I breathe, and I have no idea where it came from.

Castiel freezes, and I suddenly panic, realizing I have crossed a line that he wasn't prepared for. I wonder if he's going to shout at me and throw me out of his office, but he seems not to be in the room any more. That horrible, distant look is back, full force. The phone on the desk rings, and Castiel holds up a finger before he answers it. "Novak. Yes. Okay." There is a knock at the door a moment later, and I realize my mouth is open. Way to go, Winchester. I close my mouth and discreetly check for drool – all clear.

"Do you mind?" And just like that, Castiel is back in the here and now, cool and confident again.

I blanch for a moment, before I catch up and shake my head. "Not at all. I'm just about finished anyway." I stand and reach across the desk to shake his hand again. "Thank you,"

He smiles, and something unreadable, maybe even dark, flashes in his eyes as he takes my hand and pumps it just once. "The pleasure was all mine, Mr. Winchester."

I flap my hand like a girl, and cringe inwardly, certain I am about to blush. "Please, Dean."

The smile widens slightly, and I am certain there is a darkness in his eyes now. "_Dean_." He echoes, and he hesitates for a long moment before he lets my hand go.

Okay, definitely strange. I grin again, and he nods at me. "Thank you, Mr. Novak."

"Please, Castiel." He looks like he wants to say something else, like he's holding something back.

I nod awkwardly. Time to go. I turn quickly and exit the office with a little more grace than I entered. I briefly entertain the thought of trying to get the number of the hot assistant, but I shake the idea off. For some reason, I really don't feel up to it. A good, stiff drink with Chuck and Garth sounds like the solution. I dial them up once I am in my car in the lot again. They share the room, and I hear them bickering as the phone is picked up, but it is Chuck who wins.

"_Hello_?"

"Hey, Chuck, it's Dean." I rub my eyes tiredly and hold back a yawn. "You up for a few in The Roadhouse?"

It turns out a few drinks with the boys was a brilliant idea, and I totally forget the strange atmosphere in the office with Castiel that afternoon.

Chuck is harping on about some idea for some crappy series of books about two brothers who roam around the states fighting various monsters. I get the strange feeling he is basing the brother on myself and my brother, but after half a dozen or so whiskeys, I can't bring myself to care. I'm more interested in the bar girl, Jo. Her mother, Ellen, scares the pants off me, but I can work on her. I have spent the better part of my time in uni trying to charm my way in to Jo's pants, but as much as she winks at me and brushes past me, and brings my drinks to my table for me, very deliberately leaning down and giving me a fantastic view down her top, she won't seem to give in. She's even had the audacity to press herself against me – Hell I wish I'd cleaned the pipes _before _I'd gone out that night, because I had to sit down... for a long time... with my hands in my lap – and use me as her dance pole, then infuriatingly left me at her front door with little more than a peck on the cheek and a 'Good night, Dean'. Women can sometimes drive a man crazy. Preying on our weaknesses and our libido like that.

My eyes are distracted away from Chuck and Garth's banter as I notice Jo reaching up to the juke box to put some music on. She is wearing a tank top that rises up nicely when she so much moves, and a lovely pair of tight jeans that hug her ass in _the most_ appealing way. I grin guiltily as she turns round and catches me ogling, and I tip my beer bottle in her direction. She rolls her eyes and shakes her head, but it is in a light humor as a grin crosses her face. My own grin disappears quickly as Ellen catches my gaze, and she glares hard at me. After the moment of ice cold terror lancing through me, I wave politely at her and give her my sweetest smile. She points her index and forefingers at her eyes then points at me in the universal sign for _I'm watching you_. I gulp, but pretend not to be affected. I'm sure if it wasn't for her that Jo and I would have spent a lot of quality time together.

"Dean." Garth's voice makes me jump.

"What?"

"How did it go today?"

"'It?'"

"The interview with that bloke today?"

I nod slowly as I click on. "Yeah, fine. He was... Weird." I sip my beer, and flinch at the taste. "Motivated, passionate."

Chuck and Garth are just staring at me, gaping.

"Passionate, huh?" Garth teases, and Chuck backs him up by laughing.

"Fuck you," I snap. I suddenly feel like storming out and going home to sulk. "He seems to genuinely care about what he does, is all." I wait for more teasing, but it doesn't come.

"Nice for someone that stupidly rich to give a shit about anything." Chuck says.

"I get the feeling he hasn't always been rich." I don't know why I say it, it just kind of falls out of my mouth. It seems to be somewhat of an epidemic with me today.

"It's not unheard of." Chuck comments. "I think people from a poor background have more drive than those who have everything handed to them on a silver plate." Occasionally he comes out with deep thoughts, and that was one of them.

Garth looks at him, then at me, and we both nod and hum our agreements in response.

"Where's Sam?" Chuck asks, looking up at me.

"Home. Got some lurgy," I finish my beer and stand to leave. "I think I'm going to turn in; I'm shattered."

Chuck and Garth nod and raise their bottles to me.

"Next time," Garth says.

"Hope Sam gets better soon. Say hi from me," Chuck smiles warmly at me, and I can't help the smile that crosses my face. Simple as he may come across as being, he is one of a very few people I know who is genuine. I can't help but like him.

"And me," Garth pipes up.

"I'll send him your love, guys, don't worry," I grin, then saunter up to the bar, where Jo is serving a grisly looking old man. I set my bottle and glasses on the bar for her and smile as she approaches me. "Save you the hassle,"

Jo curtseys mockingly and smiles at me. "Thank you, Dean."

I lean against the bar and closer to Jo and lower my voice. "You know where I live if you get lonely."

Jo nods and pats me on the shoulder. "Go home, Dean."

I sigh. It was worth a shot. Hardly. "Good night,"

"Good night, Dean."

When I return to our room, Sam is still sitting on his bed, wrapped up in his covers, but he has his laptop on his lap, and he is typing furiously away on it. His eyes are narrowed as he focuses in on the screen. "You're late."

"I went for a drink with Chuck and Garth." I explain as I toe off my shoes and head to the coffee machine.

"How did it go?"

I don't bother replying, just take out the now scrumpled paper and toss it on to Sam's bed. He glowers at me, but I ignore him. "Coffee?"

"Please." He flattens out the paper and skims through what I've written. "Why have you scribbled out the first question?"

I turn to him and raise my eyebrows, incredulous. "'Are you romantically involved?'" I recite. "Are you kidding me, Sammy? I was supposed to be interviewing him bout his business for your project, not asking him on a date for you."

"I think a person's status says a lot about them." Sam begins.

"Okay, Sammy. We'll discuss your man crush tomorrow." I strip down to my boxers and clamber in to my bed. "For what it's worth, I don't think he is with anyone." I yawn loudly. "He wasn't wearing a ring, anyway." Well, not on his ring finger. He was wearing one on his left index. A plain silver band. But Sam doesn't need to know that. I close my eyes, exhaustion setting in, and bright blue eyes haunt me as I slip in to sleep.

_**Okay, so I'm just letting this flow however it wants to, but I'm sure those of you who have read the Fifty's can tell I have taken more than a little influence. Hope you like it! Please review and let me know! Sorry if anyone else has beaten me to this! I won't be following the storyline word for word – mainly because I don't like to repeat myself that much – but I will be pretty much copying it ^-^Just for fun!**_

_**E. L. James gave us Fifty Shades**_

_**Eric Kripke gave us Dean Winchester and Castiel**_

_**Someone had to mix them together and see what happens ^-^**_

_**Let me know what you think! Thank you for reading [=**_


	2. Flats Can Be Good

_**So the laptop konked out and deleted a page and a half of my work aaaaagain! Raving! **_

_**On with the fun ^-^**_

With graduation so close, the stress radiating from Sam is close to radioactive, and I find myself spending more time out drinking and less time in our room being verbally attacked. He has all but finished the piece on Novak, but he has been carrying on about needing photos to finalize. Why he thinks this is my problem, I do not know. I have enough of my own work to finish off, without him piling his crap on to my plate. It's been a week since I interviewed Novak, but he has scarcely been far from my mind, and it's wearing me down.

"What about your friend, Jo? She took photography didn't she?"

"I don't know, Sammy." I lean down to tie the laces on my boots, and pause on my way back up to tie the arms of my overalls around my waist. It's especially hot today, and the garage has no air conditioning. I would work in my underwear if I didn't run the risk of being done for indecent exposure.

"Can't you just ask her? I need this finished by Monday."

"I'll ask her," I snap. "Don't hold your breath though; I don't know if she'll be able to do it on such short notice. She might be working." I pause at the door as I collect my keys. "In fact, I don't know how you expect Mr. Rich and Famous to be able to drop all his plans and rush for a photo shoot."

"I've already spoken to him." Sam looks down, as if embarrassed.

My jaw drops. I am at a loss for words. "I have to go to work." I slam the door a little louder than necessary, then head out to my Baby.

Work is flat out; Singer's Autos has six cars in, and four are due to be collected that afternoon. My boss – a close family friend – Bobby, has checked out to fetch us some lunch from the diner in town, and has left me working on a BMW. I am stooped under it, fiddling away and humming along to the Metallica CD I have blaring through the shop as I work. It is during this cringeworthy moment, that the sound of a car horn startles me, and in all my grace, I hit my head off the bottom of the Beamer. I grasp my head in my hand as I slide out from under the car and look around for the offending vehicle. It seems like a Sammy thing to do, and I swear I will get revenge for this, too. I'm suddenly glad that I didn't shout abuse or threats, as a slender, well dressed figure steps out of an Audi. I swipe a cloth from the top of one of the many tool drawers and wipe off the worst of the grease from my hands, and I continue the gesture as I approach the man, raising my arm to attempt to shield my eyes from the sunlight behind him. It's also a way to hopefully not look so rude _not_ offering my grease covered, filthy hand to the pristine man in the pristine suit. "Hey, can I help you?" I turn the music down quickly.

"I think I have a flat..."

That gravelly voice does things to me that makes me stop in my tracks, and it is then that I recognize the person before me. "_Cas_?" I stutter stupidly, trying to cover my accidental nickname – pet name? - "-tiel... Urmm, Mister Novak, uh, sorry, I didn't realize..." I frown. "A flat?" His only response is a small nod. I chuckle gently, hoping not to further offend him, and I approach his shiny, sparkly car and crouch at the blatantly flat tire and prod at it. "I'd say that's flat, all right." I stand and turn to him. "I can take it off and check it for punctures... Do you have a spare?"

His eyes narrow, and he tilts his head to one side slightly in an adorably confused gesture.

I nod. "Okay." I set about removing the tire, the whole time keeping a third eye on Castiel. He watches me intently in return. I scrabble around in my brain for something to make conversation; something sharp and witty. Nothing. Small talk? Come on, surely. I remove the tire and flash an awkward grin in Castiel's direction as I disappear in to the garage to check it.

The tire itself turns out to be absolutely fine, but I can't help but notice the air cap has been tampered with, but apparently to no avail. It is the slim gash in the tire that has caused the flat. I frown. If I didn't know any better, I would think this has been done deliberately. If it were vandalism, most likely all four tires would have been slashed, and the holes would have been large, done in a rush. The damage to the rims is minimal, so it has happened maybe a couple of miles down the road. I emerge from the garage with my conclusion and explain the options and prices. He accepts the new tire and inner tube and hands over his credit card. _Mr. C. J. Novak. _I shiver as he brushes his fingers against mine as he draws his hands away, and I look up, knowing I turn beet red as our eyes lock again. There is something intense in the way he looks at me, and I am pretty sure it makes me uneasy. I smile and nod – the best way out of any situation – and slither off quickly before he can pass any comment.

As I change the tire, I can feel him watching my every move; probably waiting to jump on me for any mistake, a slip of the hand and I could damage the perfect paint job. Good thing I'm too careful for that. I've been working on a beautiful '67 Impala that my Father handed down to me for my 19th birthday. And there is more chance of Hell freezing over than me scratching that car. I have a steady hand. I stand when the job is done and gesture for him to follow me in to the main office to carry out payment. I read from the mental script of customer serving I have learned over the years, keeping it curt, but polite. I avoid eye contact at all costs.

"Coffee?"

Eye contact resumes, and I blink stupidly at the perfectly presented man before me, marvelling at how he has managed to wander through the yard and the garage without so much as a speck of dirt coming in to contact with him. I suddenly become very conscious of how much of a mess I must look; my eyes catch sight of my reflection; sweat galore, my overalls tied around my waist, grease and filth on my hands and up my arms, and worst of all, marks on my white vest top where, in true mechanic fashion, I have used it to wipe the worst of the various muck from my hands. It would appear that Castiel is also taking note of these imperfections as I catch his eyes raking over my body, and that alone is enough to make me squirm. I clear my throat to divert his attention, and more so, to prepare my voice, given that my throat has constricted. "I'm sorry?" Could I have picked a stupider phrase? I cringe inwardly.

"Tomorrow morning. 10 am," He slips something out of his pocket and places it on the table.

"I'm working..." I begin, but he cuts me off with the power of his hand.

"What time do you finish?"

"About four."

"I'll pick you up at ten after. Sharp." He assures, a ghost of a smile tugging at the corners of his lips and eyes.

I'm in the garage on my own tomorrow; Bobby is taking the day to go hunting with his old friend Rufus. I want to argue this point, but I get the feeling I won't have much say in the matter. So once again, I smile and nod. And like that, he is gone.

I am left confused and a little shaken even, from my encounter with Mr. Stupidly Rich, and I spend the rest of the day working on auto pilot and rarely speaking. I know Bobby notices, because he keeps giving me funny looks, but he knows better than to pry, so he just points at cars and tells me what needs doing. We keep working until past nine that night, and I know that Sammy will be home, probably worrying about me, so I take a moment from changing oil filters to phone him.

"_Dean?_"

"Hey Sammy," I lean on the old Ford pick-up I've been working on and peek up at the rapidly darkening sky. "I'm still at work."

"_Gee, Bobby sure likes to crack the whip_,"

I smile and glance over at the rotund man, who has his head buried in the engine of a shiny new Merc. I can hear him grumbling and cursing under his breath. "He sure does."

"_Are you working tomorrow?_"

"Yeah, Bobby and Rufus are hunting."

"_Hunting?_"

I shrug, forgetting for a moment that he can't actually see me, so I follow up the gesture. "Old man game, I don't know."

Sam chuckles on the other end of the phone. "_What time are you home?_"

I resist the urge to shrug again. "I'm not sure."

"_Surely you know what time you finish?_"

"Well, officially, it's four, but..." I trail off. Do I tell him about my date with Novak? Is it a date? No. It's just a social coffee. He probably wants to tease me about falling in to his office or reprimand me for flirting with his PA.

"_But?_"

I bite my lip. "I'm popping out for a coffee after work."

"_On your own?_"

"Not exactly..."

"_Is it a date?_" He actually sounds exciting. I can see him jumping up off his bed. Sam has never approved of my private – perhaps not so private – life. I made my way through the _entire_ cheerleading squad in high school, and since then, I have had a few one night stands, but I have never so much as been on a second date. I don't know. It just doesn't appeal to me. Sex is just sex. It's a means to an end. I don't feel the need to follow it through and see the girl again. No one has ever grabbed my attention enough to want anything more than a fiery night. I don't see a problem with it, but Sammy seems to think I should think about counseling. There is no way I am wasting my drinking money on that rubbish.

"It's not a _date_." I roll my eyes as my little brother's juvenile over excitement.

"_Oh. Who is it with then?_"

I wipe my hands on a bit of cloth I dumped on the hood of the truck. "Novak." I practically hear Sam's jaw hit the floor.

"_Novak?" _He squeaks. "_As in Castiel Novak? CEO of-_"

"Yes, that one." I snap. I don't understand his enthusiasm.

Sam pauses on the other end of the phone as if deliberating something. "I wonder if he _likes_ you?"

"What?" I burst out laughing, but quickly hush when Bobby shoots me a disapproving glare. "Sammy, don't be ridiculous."

He lowers his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "He's never had a photo taken with a date. No one even knows if he _has_ a sex life... Or what it's like."

I hold my hand up, scrunching my face in disgust. "Dude, please, enough. It's not really anyone else's business if he likes pole or hole." I hear Sam make a disgusted noise in reply. "I need to get back to work."

Sam sighs. "_Okay. I'll see you when you get home,_"

"Okay. I shouldn't be too much longer. Should be home by ten." I hang up and return to the job at hand. Then my brain kicks in and starts to spin. I know that I have personally always been open enough to know is a guy is hot, but I've never _done_ anything with another guy. I mean, I've kissed another boy as a dare, but that was just Michael in college, and we were extremely drunk. Thinking of it, he wasn't a bad kisser, but neither of us lingered. And things had been a bit awkward for a few days after it. _That_ didn't make me gay though. I wasn't going to deny for a second that Cas was hot. Like really, really hot. Anyone with eyes could see that. But that didn't mean I wanted to bone him. It was a bit strange, him turning up at the yard today. A man of his stature would surely have a personal slave or something, who was trained in just about everything you can imagine, including changing tires. There again, he had been alone in the car. There are plenty of other, more high profile car centers about the place, and none of them are on the opposite side of town from his offices. _He was just in the area_. My brain supplies, and I agree with it. That doesn't, however, explain the coffee. Maybe he is that way inclined... Or maybe he just wanted to threaten me about flirting with his PA. Maybe they've got something going on. It's not exactly unheard of. That's probably it.

"Jo, _please,_" I whine, dragging out the last word like a child pleading with its Mother for candy.

"It's tomorrow, Dean."

"It's Castiel Novak," I counter, as if that is too tempting an offer to decline.

"What's in it for me?"

"My eternal gratitude." I give her my best grin and flutter my eyelashes.

Jo huffs at me, but I know I've won. She points in my face. "I will make you repay me."

"Any way you wish," I promise, hoping that she will take the bait.

"Don't get your hopes up, Winchester." With that, she clears off to serve another customer.

It dawns on me then that Castiel has planned to pick me up from work at four, and Sam is expecting him in the Uni theater at six. I wonder if he's forgotten? Sam will be furious. His grades depend on this piece. I guess it's not so bad; I can remind him of his plans with my little brother, and maybe threaten to go to the tabloids with news of the affair he's probably having with his PA. Sure. That'll be a good ice breaker.

**I've just gone and lent Grey to my friend, so I'm having to try and remember what happens and when, and to be honest, I found Grey a really difficult read, and terribly written, so it really didn't catch me as much as books normally do when I read them, so I actually can't remember it too well! Darker was better [= Hope you're enjoying yourselves ^-^**

**Dunno how often I'll update. This is kind of a laid back one [=**


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